How can fashion go forward in these dissonant days of overproduction? At Marni, Francesco Risso arranged his guests in a set that posed questions about the philosophical face-off between technology and nature. Technoprimitivism, he called his collection. “The contrast between our irresistible love of innovation and technology,” he said, “and the other side, the movements of the soul that you cannot bring to a technological meaning.”

To watch, we were seated on bales of wadded-up, discarded fabric and piles of old carpets, sandbags, and sleeping bags. Old clocks were stacked in one corner. Vintage shoes were poked between vacuum-packed lumps of sheets. As an installation, it felt like the artfully arranged contents of a hoarder’s garage. Backstage, Risso said that it was “about collecting, obsessively putting things in order” and also “to express human waste, in some way.”

Somehow, what evolved posited Marni as a halfway house between polished, high-styled fashion and a possible future where the use of recycled fabrics could—should—be considered beautiful. High-shine, brilliant Yves Klein–blue and toxic-green belted coats were raw cut, trailing threads. They were followed by collages of blanket wraps, nylon raincoats, and hooded duffle coats, and brightly colored layerings of knitted tunics over superwide pants.